


Losing Hand

by somnambulates



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ... kind of, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Fantasy, Keith & Shiro (Voltron) are Cousins, Lance can see auras, M/M, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Psychics, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, idiots to lovers, the ultimate klance dynamic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26070142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somnambulates/pseuds/somnambulates
Summary: As the only member of his family not endowed with psychic abilities, Lance has always felt like the odd one out. What good is seeing auras when your whole family can see the future?Keith has always known he was the odd one out, so his whole life he’s pushed people away before they had the chance to hurt him. The only person he trusts completely - his cousin Shiro - has vanished off the face of the earth along with his best friend's brother, and there is no length that Keith will not go to to find them.As the two of them try to untangle the mystery of the disappearances with the help of their friends, they end up caught in a web much larger than they bargained for.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Losing Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first ever fic, so I really have no idea what I'm doing, but I'm super excited! The concept of this is very, VERY loosely based on The Raven Cycle, so if you vibe with the haunted small town Americana thing, you might just vibe with this :)

“Lance, _seriously_ , stop! You literally only have to wait fifteen minutes until they’re done,” Hunk says, lightly slapping Lance’s hand away from the tray of unbaked cookies. 

“But Hunkkkk! I haven’t had any of your food for months! I’ve been deprived for too long!” Lance moans dramatically, slumping himself over the small kitchen island as Hunk puts the tray into the oven.

“If you can hold out while I’m at school you’ll survive for another fifteen minutes.”

“Maybe, but I won’t be happy about it.” 

“Good. Suffer.”

Lance huffs and props his elbows on the counter, cradling his chin in his hands. “I can’t believe I missed you.”

Hunk chuckles as he finishes setting the timer on his phone. “Love you too, Lance,” He leans back against the counter behind him, “So, what have you been up to? What have I missed in the wildly exciting life of Lance McClain?”

Lance hums softly, turning his head to look out the window. It’s dark out, and a cool spring breeze drifts in the window from the backyard. “Just one adventure after another, you know. With the community college, working retail, and babysitting, it’s really a wonder that no one has written a novel about my life yet.” 

“You know, you say that,” Hunk says, turning to grab two mugs from the cupboard behind him. One has a cow print on it and an unsettling approximation of udders acting as its legs, and the other was clearly painted by a young child, “and yet you remain the most interesting person I know. Do you want the cow or Nadia’s masterpiece?”

“Cow, obviously,” Lance replies, “And I’m _really_ not sure about that. You don’t think my Mom’s readings are more interesting? Or how Rachel sometimes dreams of the answers to her tests the night before taking them? Or like, how Veronica used to scry on that girl she was crushing on, and she totally figured out the bands she was into by looking at the posters on her wall?” He pauses, “Actually, that last one is kind of creepy, but my point still stands.”

“You know I love your family, dude. But you’re my best friend for a reason,” Hunk shrugs as he fills up his own mug at the tap, then retrieves a half full pitcher of iced tea from the fridge to pour in Lance’s, “Plus, seeing auras? Thats cool shit too man.”

“Ugh,” Lance accepts his iced tea when Hunk slides it across the counter to him, and takes a gulp of it, “Don’t even bother with that one again. You know no one believes me when I tell them that. Plus I can’t really do anything with it. You see one yellow aura, you’ve seen them all.”

“Hey! You said mine’s yellow!”

“Oh you don’t count, dude. Your yellow is _beautiful_ . Most people’s are all muddied up with some other color. Yours is practically _gold_ , bro. Shine on, Ponyboy.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s ‘stay gold’.”

“Eh, whatever. You still got it.”

They stay there together in companionable silence for a moment, the sounds of crickets chirping out the window and various family members rattling around the house keeping them company. For all his whining, Lance really did miss this. The three years since Hunk left for college and Lance, well, didn’t, have been sort of lonely for him. Not that he hasn’t had his family to keep him company, but the void that his best friend left in his life after the two of them were practically joined at the hip for years has not been an easy one to fill. 

Hunk’s family had moved in down the street from Lance when they were ten. Lance had made his way over to their house that very day, and the two of them had been friends ever since. They had long fantasized about going to college together and living in a dorm of their own, but when it came down to it, Lance couldn’t go through with it. He knew his parents were willing to help him pay for school, but with the loans he was going to have to take out and the strain it would put on his family financially, Lance decided to live at home, take part time classes at the local community college, and work. And so Hunk went to college to study engineering, and Lance stayed behind. 

They still text and video chat, but it’s not the same as being physically together. The warm glow of Hunk’s aura brings Lance a sense of ease that he just can’t seem to get over Facetime.

Hunk breaks the silence with a yawn, “Can we move to the couch? We always end up hanging out in the kitchen and _every time_ I’m sore afterwards.”

“Sound logic.” Lance says, pushing himself off the rickety stool by the counter and making his way to the living room. He sets his mug down on the coffee table before flopping down on the couch with Hunk following suit on the opposite end. Lance picks idly at a loose string on the side of the sofa.

Hunk curls his legs up and takes a sip of his water before setting his mug on the coffee table. “You know, my mom told me about that guy that disappeared the other week. You heard about that, right?”

Lance casts his eyes down to the string he’s running between his fingers, “Yeah, I heard. Crazy shit,” He shakes his head, raising an eyebrow, “Don’t hear much stuff like that happening around here.”

Hunk pauses for a moment, then says, “Do you remember Pidge? From high school?”

“Oh yeah. Damn, I haven’t talked to them in a while. Why?”

“Well… That guy is their brother. Matt Holt, remember?”

Lance’s hand stills and he gapes at Hunk for a moment before whispering, “No shit. I had no idea,” He runs a hand through his hair and leans forward a bit, “I didn’t even notice. I should text them or something. I don’t know, is that, like, an appropriate thing to do? Roll up like ‘Hey! I know we haven’t really talked much since high school but I’m really sorry your brother went missing! Let me know if there’s anything I can do!”

“Honestly that doesn’t sound like too bad a start?” Hunk offers, shrugging a bit, “I’m sure they need all the support they can get right now. I should probably say something too.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Damn.”

Lance feels terrible that he didn’t notice earlier. The name Matt Holt hadn’t even registered in his mind until Hunk connected him to Pidge. He can only imagine what it's like to have a family member missing with no leads on finding him, especially after what happened with Pidge’s dad last year. At least as far as he knows - Lance hasn’t heard any news on their disappearance since he first learned about it. 

The three of them had been pretty good friends back in high school. Even though Pidge was a year younger than them, they’d always gotten on well. The McClain family had a bit of an odd reputation for the psychic business that they ran out of their home, and while most people wrote Lance’s family off immediately as being frauds, Pidge had never been one to criticize. In fact, he hadn’t had a friend ask him so many questions about his family’s profession in his life. Pidge’s curiosity was unrelenting, and the trio had countless debates on the ins and outs of the psychic arts. 

After Lance graduated, he had tried to keep in touch, he really had. But after forgetting to reply to their texts one too many times, he thought it would be too awkward to answer so late, and their connection eventually fizzled out. 

They had a brief exchange about a year ago when Pidge’s father died. But after that… not much of anything.

He had always felt guilty for that, but it was an underlying guilt. The kind that sleeps just below your consciousness until you’re reminded of it and it jolts awake, filling you with a deeper regret having simmered for a while.

The alarm for the cookies jolts Lance out of his trance, and he starts a bit. “ _Finally_ , Hunk,” he says dramatically, raising his arms over his head in praise, “Cookie me!”

Hunk rolls his eyes as he pushes himself off the couch before heading to the kitchen. “You know you have to come over here to get them,” Hunk says, hunching down to get the oven mitts from a drawer, “I’m not going to be serving you tonight, your highness.”

Lance shoots his best friend a death glare over the back of the couch as he hears a muffled shout from upstairs, “Did someone say cookies?” closely followed by the creak of the floorboards as various McClain family members are summoned by the presence of Hunk’s food in their kitchen. Though Lance’s family practices in many things akin to magic, Hunk’s cooking might as well be the most magical thing in the world to them. 

Peeking her head around the corner of the staircase, Lance’s mother makes her way into the kitchen, followed closely by his father, Rachel, and Veronica.

“Hunk! It’s so good to see you again, my dear, it’s been too long,” she says, hugging Hunk after he’s set down the last tray of cookies. His dad gives Hunk a firm hug, patting him once on the back before releasing him.

As the three of them strike up a conversation about school, Lance grabs a couple cookies, juggling them from hand to hand to keep from burning himself, and makes his way to the living room where his sisters are sitting on the floor, cookies in hand, bickering.

He sits on the floor next to them as Rachel shoots a glare at her sister, “Just because we’re sharing a room again now that you’re back from school doesn’t mean you get to use all my stuff,” she snaps, pointing her cookie at Veronica accusingly, “Are you seriously wearing my shorts?”

Veronica smirks, gesturing with her cookie, “Older sister privileges.”

A chunk of the cookie drops from her hand onto the offending article of clothing.

As Rachel pounces on Veronica, desperately trying to remove the chocolate from her stolen shorts, Lance lets his sisters’ arguing fade into the background and pulls out his phone, thumbing the cracked screen until he reaches Pidge’s contact information. He stares at their name and the little alien emoji next to it for a moment before opening a text conversation.

* * *

_Hey Pidge. I heard about your brother. Let me know if you ever need anything. <3 _

* * *

Keith has always been a morning person. The world always seems quieter to him then, with the soft glow of the sun just peeking over the horizon. It’s a sort of solitude that never felt lonely, only peaceful.

Or it would be, if Shiro would stop. Fucking. Snoring.

Keith abandons pouring the milk into his cereal bowl in favor of banging his head into the cabinet in front of him. Shiro’s door is closed, how is he so loud? It sounds like he swallowed gravel and his throat is trying to grind it up in his sleep. 

Flipping his phone over, he glances at the time.

7:08

Sighing, Keith makes his way over to his cousin’s door, rapping lightly on it before opening it. The light from the kitchen shines onto Shiro’s sleeping form, completely tangled in a mound of blankets.

“Shiro. You’ve gotta get up. It’s after seven.”

“Mmmph.”

“ _Shiro_.”

“Mmhmm. I’m up. I’m getting up,” Shiro mumbles, yawning as he paws around his bedside table for his phone, “Alarm didn’t go off.”

“I can see that,” Keith says, raising an eyebrow, “C’mon, you don’t want to be late for work.”

Satisfied that his cousin is awake enough, he returns to pouring his cereal and plops himself down at the kitchen table, idley scrolling through his phone. 

Shiro eventually makes his way out of his bedroom, sporting some fantastic bed head that makes it seem as if he’s sprouted a few horns from his dark hair. 

“Sleep well? You look great,” Keith chuckles as he gestures to Shiro’s head with his spoon.

Shiro reaches up to feel his messy hair and yawns, scrunching his face up as he opens a cabinet, “Didn’t really get that much sleep,” he says grabbing his cereal from the cabinet and setting it down on the counter. The brand is Kashi, though Keith had jokingly taken a marker to it and written a ‘ta’ in front of it, and it now reads ‘TaKashi’. _So we know that it's yours_ , he had said.

“Matt again?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of hard not to think about it.”

“I know.”

They sit together in companionable silence while they eat, and eventually go their separate ways to get ready for the day. Their lives have been… different lately. It’s been two full weeks since Matt Holt went missing, and everything has felt wrong, but not wrong enough at the same time. 

When Keith first found out, it felt like a bucket of ice water being poured on his head - jarring and filling his heart with dread. The next few days after had been a frantic blur of searching and questions and _where where where could he be_? But now, it’s been a bit longer, and the initial frenzy has died down. Life has gone on, but it feels wrong that it has, like Keith shouldn’t be able to go about his life with the hole that Matt has left in it.

He can only imagine how Shiro feels. Even though the two of them are both very close to the Holt family, Keith has always been the closest to Pidge. They’ve been best friends since Keith came to live with Shiro’s family when he was twelve, and their family always felt like an extension of his own. Shiro is the one close to Matt, though. They’re best friends and they have been forever. Keith doesn’t want to think about what he would do if it were Pidge who disappeared, and worried as he is, he can’t even comprehend how terrible Shiro must feel.

Keith is trying to support him but honestly… he doesn’t feel like he’s very good at it. He doesn’t have a lot of practice. But he’s trying.

The whole thing feels like a sick repeat of what happened to Pidge and Matt’s father, Sam, around a year ago, and Keith doesn’t feel any more equipped to deal with grief this time around.

“Hey, Keith,” Shiro calls, slinging his bag over his shoulder and grabbing his keys as he heads to the door, “Don’t wait up for me tonight, I might be out late. There’s still some leftovers in the fridge from yesterday if you don’t feel like cooking.”

Keith sticks his head out of his bedroom door, “Thanks, Shiro. See you.”

Shiro mock salutes to him as he walks out the front door, closing it behind him with a click.

* * *

Lance has always loved the nighttime. When he was younger he would play outside with Hunk for hours, catching fireflies at dusk and retreating to the wraparound porch to admire them in jars before letting them free when Hunk’s parents would call him home. 

Lance and his father would sit on the porch after that, reading or talking or looking up at the stars through the trees. His dad would point out the constellations and tell him the stories behind them all, and eventually, when he ran out, he made up his own. 

Those had always been Lance’s favorites. The tales of the great lions that lived in the stars. Even though he knows now that he’s older that his dad made them up, are any stories really any more or less real than others?

It’s late. Lance knows he should be in bed since he has work tomorrow, but he can’t bring himself to go inside. So he stays on the porch, swaying softly in the hanging chair.

He closes his eyes and just breathes in the cool night air. It’s still early spring, just warm enough that the bite of cold has left to welcome in a softer sort of chill. Everything feels warmer to Lance when he’s at home though. As much as his heart craves adventure and just something _more_ than the life he’s always had, Lance knows that deep down, this will always be his home.

A sudden wetness slides over his lips, snapping him out of his reverie. Lance brings a finger to his face and pulls it back to find it slick with bright, red blood.

“Shit!” he says, pinching his nose as he attempts to staunch the flow of blood. He cups his free hand below his face to catch any stray drops of blood before they can get on his clothes and makes his way back inside to the kitchen.

After running the tap and splashing water on his face and hands to rinse off the blood, he reaches for a roll of paper towels.

“You okay, mijo?”

Lance turns to find his mother making her way over to him. “A nosebleed again? Here,” she says, handing him some more paper towels, “How come you’re still up anyway? It’s getting late.”

“You know, just… thinking,” Lance says, his voice muffled through the bloodied paper towels, “Hunk told me yesterday that guy who went missing is one of my high school friend’s brother. You remember Pidge, right? The short one?”

His mother’s eyes widen, eyebrows raised before her face falls. “Yes, they were always so lovely. That’s such a shame.”

“Yeah. I feel terrible,” Lance replies, running his free hand through his hair, “I texted them though, just for, you know, some support I guess.”

“That’s very kind of you, mijo.”

He hums, leaning into his mother’s side. She embraces him, lightly rubbing his back, “I love you, Lance.”

“Love you too, Mama.”

She releases him with a watery smile, “Is your nose okay? The bleeding should have stopped by now.”

“Yeah, I think it’s fine now. Let me just clean up.”

* * *

Something feels… different when Keith wakes up.

He can’t quite put his finger on it. He goes through the motions of his usual morning routine, fooling around on his phone in bed for a while before getting up and making himself some coffee. Reading the news while he eats breakfast. Brushing his teeth. Showering. Getting dressed. Texting Pidge. 

Even though Keith usually finds peace in the quiet of the morning and the soft glow of sunrise, it feels off today. Like the silence is deafening rather than soothing. 

The… silence? 

Shiro… isn’t snoring.

That in itself is not completely unusual, but Keith hasn’t heard a single grunt or weird snort since he woke up. It’s Saturday, so Shiro doesn’t need to be up for work, but he is usually awake by this point of the morning. 

He pads over to Shiro’s room, lightly rapping his knuckles on the door. 

“Shiro?”

He gets no response. 

Frowning, Keith twists the knob and opens the door, surprised to see that the window shade is open. 

Shiro’s bed is half made, with the covers pulled up but a stray pillow still lying on the floor. A pile of books and sheets of paper are scattered across his desk. His work bag is absent. 

As is Shiro himself. 

Keith turns out of the room and whips his phone out of his pocket, dialing up Shiro’s number. He’s trying not to freak out - he knows that Shiro said he’d be home late last night, it’s possible that he’s staying over somewhere. He could have just left really early this morning and Keith slept through it. Keith one time slept through fireworks going on right next door, it’s possible, right?

It’s just that Shiro would normally tell him that he wouldn’t be around in the morning. Send him a text or something. Especially with everything that’s happened with Matt. 

The dial tone rings and rings, but Shiro doesn’t pick up. 

_This is Shiro, I can’t get to the phone right now but leave me a message._

Keith pulls his phone from his ear and dials Shiro’s number again, eyebrows pinching together as his mind begins to spiral with fear as it goes to voicemail yet again. 

Keith knows that he doesn’t have any confirmation yet. Know that he could be jumping to conclusions. He _knows_ this.

But deep down, he knows that his gut instinct is right.

Shiro is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr @somnambulates :)
> 
> Just a note on updates: I’m not going to have a schedule or anything and they will likely be very slow. I’m working on my thesis right now so I don’t have too much time to write, but when I do it’s very nice to indulge in this story!
> 
> Drop a comment or a kudos if you liked this chapter! <3


End file.
